He's the Girl
by SmileBecauseYourBeautiful
Summary: Based on She's The Man. Kurt disguises himself as his sister Quinn and joins Dalton Academy's show choir to prove his singing talent, and on the way falls in love with soloist Blaine Anderson.
1. Chapter 1

**- Just to make sure I don't own Glee or She's the man, and this story would be something like She's the man but I will put some of my ideas in it! Hope you enjoy:)**

Chapter 1:  
"Kurt," Mr. Schuester said wearily, "please sit down. This audition is for the female lead. We've been over this"

"But I can hit those notes just as well as anyone here, Mr. Schue! Probably better," Kurt added, holding his chin high and ignoring the glares of some of the girls in his class, though he noticed Brittany nodding her agreement.

"Kurt, you cannot sing the girl's part. You are a boy…"

"Barely," someone snickered and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"It just wouldn't be accessible for a large audience, especially if you're singing opposite Finn."

There were several more snickers at this and Finn refused to meet his eye. Kurt cursed the burning of his cheeks. Everyone remembered the embarrassment that was Kurt's massive crush on painfully straight Finn Hudson two years ago, and no one was content to let him forget it.

"Mr. Schue, I know I have the best voice for this part, and if you'd just give me a chance to prove it..."

"No, Kurt. We'll find something else for you. Not this song."

"God! Stop being so frickin narrow-minded! If you would step outside of your own little safe, boring box, you'd realize that no one here is being challenged by your unoriginal and uninspired ideas and lessons!"

Mr. Schue's eyes bugged out and Kurt's mouth snapped shut. Several of his classmates gasped and Santana let out a delighted laugh.

"Kurt, I'll see you in the principal's office in five minutes."  
Kurt stood stiffly, his kilt swaying around his knees as several people giggled. His Doc Martens stomped down the risers and he marched out the door, sending Mr. Schue the subtlest of bitch glares as he left.

Kurt stared at Principal Figgins in sheer amazement. "You cannot be serious."  
"Mr. Hummel, the school administration is trying to crack down on unruly students. We need to nip these problems in the bud, or this place will turn into a zoo!" Whenever Principal Figgins spoke, Kurt could never tell if he was child-like in his earnestness or incredibly condescending.

"A three week suspension for yelling at a teacher? Santana pantsed Brittany in the hall last week; she didn't even get detention! And it seems like every other day Finn is getting into a fight with-"

"Kurt, Principal Figgins's decision is final," Mr. Schuester interrupted hastily, "he decides what the appropriate punishment is, so just accept that you'll be missing three weeks of school. You've been insubordinate and rude before; this isn't the first time."  
Kurt glared at Mr. Schue and his teacher blinked back mildly, as though this wasn't exactly what he wanted. He turned back to the principal.  
"I'll miss Regionals!"

"Mr. Hummel, if you have an issue with my decision, please have your parents contact me."  
Kurt snorted delicately. Right. Carol and Burt, too embroiled in their own deteriorating marriage and trying to fool the rest of the world that their family was still happy to even notice they had living, breathing, actual children, wouldn't care about his school woes. After all, their solution to Quinn's downward spiral into delinquency and dyeing her hair pink – from a box, no less – was to send her to boarding school. And Finn being weirded out with me being gay.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at Mr. Schue, who had a hand covering his mouth as though to hide a smile. "You won't have enough members to compete without me."  
"I'm sure we'll be able to find a suitable replacement," Mr. Schue assured him, "After all, it's not like you were going to be singing lead."  
Kurt gripped his own hands in his lap to prevent them from slapping Mr. Schue's.  
"Fine," he snarled, "that's just fine. Good luck finding someone else who can hit the notes needed to balance out the harmonies. You know deep down that I'm the best one in there."  
Mr. Schuester sighed. "Kurt your a guy, a guy doesn't sing female leads."  
Kurt couldn't trust himself to say another word, so he stood up and left with whatever was left of his dignity.

"I can't believe he said that to you!" Santana yelled over the phone, "No, wait, I totally can, because that's what he used to say to me. You remember, right?"  
Kurt was reclining on the sofa in his family's den after he had driven home from school. His suspension would start the following Monday. He chewed celery sticks and low fat ranch dip morosely as he watched a muted episode of Project Runway and listened to Santana flare up with righteous indignation on his behalf.  
"…and that's why I quit! He always ignored our talent, and he knows how good we are, Kurt. I think he's jealous. I outgrew him and that choir a long time ago, and it's about time you realized you have, too."  
"But what am I supposed to do? You joined the Troubletones. Where else am I supposed to go? The leads for the spring play have already been cast…there's nothing left. And it's my senior year! I need show choir on my curriculum vitae!"  
Santana sighed. "Yeah, and missing out on Regionals isn't helping your cause, either."  
"Thanks, Mercedes," Kurt said wryly, but then sat up as he noticed Quinn climbing in through the window, tossing a cigarette out before she slid the glass down, and throwing a large, beat up black knapsack on the floor. "I have to go; it's Quinn."  
"Quinn! You get that girl on this phone right now so I can-"  
"Bye, Santana," Kurt muttered as he hung up.  
"Hey," Quinn said when she saw him, flashing her white teeth in the semblance of a smile. They stood out against the dark red lipstick she had chosen, which clashed horribly with her bright pink hair, but Kurt knew she was beyond caring.  
"We're on the second floor, Quinn," Kurt pointed out dryly.  
His twin sister shrugged. "There's a tree, Kurt," she mimicked his tone as she walked over to their parents' liquor cabinet and yanked open the doors.  
"Quinn, come on, you said you were going to cut back. It's not going to be easy to go cold turkey in boarding school, you know."  
"Relax, sweetie; I'm here for the cash." Quinn moved some bottles aside and extracted a thick roll of bills and waggled it for him to see. "See? Dad's booze fund." She laughed harshly and stood up, walking over to Kurt and poking him in the chest affectionately. "Besides, what exactly do you think boarding schools are like? A bunch of bored, rich kids all trapped together, wearing ugly uniforms and trying to forget how bland their lives are? You can bet the booze and the drugs are flowing. Also, sex," she teased, and her smile became genuine, both mocking and affectionate, at the sight of his pink cheeks.  
"Yes, well, I'm sure they'll be keeping an extra close eye on you," he responded airily.  
"No they won't," Quinn sing-songed, "because I'm not going." She sauntered over to her bag and tried to find a place for her newly acquired cash.

"What?" Kurt hissed after his two-second recovery to this announcement. "Have you completely lost it?"  
"According to everyone and their shrink, that is the word on the street, yes," Quinn quipped, but then turned to face him straight on. "I can't stand it here anymore, Kurt. And there is no chance that boarding school could help." She paused, wavering slightly, but then lifted her chin resolutely. "Sheila and The Mac want to go to L.A. It's time for The Skanks to take our music on the public stage. We're gonna go where we can be discovered, Kurt. We're gonna make art, we're gonna make music about truth, the ugly truths that people like our parents can't handle. I know it's not your thing; it's not…show tunes. But it means something to me. This is what I want…what I need."  
Kurt stared at her helplessly. "And you're leaving now?"

"Right now. Sorry to spring it on you at the last second, but I've been avoiding Carole and Burt like the plague these past couple days. Besides, we only really agreed to it last night. Oh! And can you do something for me, pretty please?" She fixed him with the look she used to give their father whenever she wanted him to buy her something, back when she was the perfect blond princess their parents adored. Kurt could see through the ruse but saw no point in saying no. "Could you call Dalton, the secretary or whoever, and…I don't know, pretend to be Carole. Or Burt; I know you can imitate both their voices pretty well. And just tell them I'm sick or something. Just something that'll buy me a couple weeks before anyone realizes I'm gone. I just need enough time to get away and disappear."  
"So you're just leaving me here, then."

Quinn sighed and reached up to hold Kurt's face in her hands. "You're a survivor. You've always been much stronger than me. I promise I'll write to you." She stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he didn't even have the heart to wipe away what was sure to be an ugly maroon splotch on his cheek. He watched as his sister slid the window open again and stuck one leg out of the frame but then paused. "You know," she said, looking over at him, "it's too bad Carole and Burrt didn't enroll you at Dalton. Don't you have a thing for guys in uniform?" And with a parting wink, she ducked out the window and pulled it shut behind her.

Kurt fought for a moment between embarrassment at her suggestive smirk and the pain her departure already had settling in before he raced to the window and peered out. Quinn had scaled down the tree by their house and was running across the lawn, pulling her black hoodie up to hide her hair. She ran to a rusty old van waiting for her at the curb on their immaculate lawn. It looked incredibly out of place among the perfect yards and houses in the middle of the suburbs. The door slid open and she leaped inside.  
As he watched the van drive away, Quinn's words floated back to him. It's too bad Carole and Burt didn't enroll you at Dalton.  
He ran back over to the couch, scooping up the phone and punching in his best friend's number.  
"Santana? I have an idea," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"It's official," Santana announced when Kurt opened the door, "you have lost your damn mind."

"Okay, I think you fully expressed your opinion on the drive over. Which is not safe, by the way."

"I have BlueTooth," she replied, waving him aside so she could come in.

"Well," Kurt sniffed, "I think it's an inspired idea. Like pretty much all my ideas."

She eyed him balefully. "Do you not remember that calf-length purple sweater vest you wore last year?"

"Look, I can't help it if our sad suburban surroundings are ill-prepared for the fashion of tomorrow. Now enough chit-chat. Do you have the goods?"

"'The goods,' Kurt? This isn't a drug deal. You are so lucky my sister's spending my dad's money on beauty school right now and I have the patience of a saint."

"I know," Kurt told her fondly, kissing her on the cheek. "Now come on, let's go up to my room in case Carole comes home from her charity luncheon early."

"What are you gonna tell your parents anyway?"

"I told Carole that I'm staying with Burt starting Monday, and I just haven't told Burt anything. Their impending divorce has its benefits. Burt spends all his time at the beach house, and it's not too far from McKinley. They're barely talking now."  
"Kurt, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. The more time they spend at each other's throats, the less time they spend asking me if I have a girlfriend yet."  
Santana huffed as they reached Kurt's bedroom. "Alright, fine. You tugged at my heartstrings, so I'll play along with your lunatic idea."  
Kurt pursed his lips in mock indignation. "And why, exactly, is it so crazy? I get teased all the time for looking and sounding like a girl; might as well use it to my advantage."

Santana sat him down in front of his vanity and peered at his reflection in the mirror. "Well, you are ridiculously pretty. You and Quinn have the same great bone structure. And flawless complexions."

Kurt sat up, preening, and Santana smacked him on the back of his head. "Don't get ahead of yourself! What are we going to do about these?" she asked, squeezing his shoulders. "You're too broad. You have a cute little waist, which is good, and a cute butt, and Quinn doesn't have much going on in the chest department," she went on, ignoring Kurt's disturbed look, "but your shoulders are too broad and your arms are too big."

"I already have that figured out," Kurt replied with a smirk, "Dalton's latest uniform jackets for girls are on the cutting edge of fashion – meaning shoulder pads – so I took the pads out of Quinn's jacket and made some alterations so it would fit. And by the way, my legs look fabulous in the skirt."

"I'm sure they do. I've seen you rock a kilt," Santana said distractedly as she swiveled him around and stared at his face. "Okay, I have a couple different wigs for you to try, and we'll have to shape your eyebrows a little different, and I'll teach you how to apply your makeup."  
"Santana, I think I've been in enough stage plays over the past three years to know how to apply makeup."  
She rolled her eyes. "Such a boy. Stage makeup and regular makeup are not the same, Kurt. God, you have so much to learn."  
"Well, then," he pouted, "teach me your wily woman ways."

They spent the next couple hours picking out and styling Kurt's Quinn-wig (blonde, pixie cut), practicing applying eyeliner, mascara, and blush without going overboard ("If there's no stage lights on you, you'll look like a sad clown hooker with that much on!"), and figuring out ways to style Kurt's uniform that would give the appearance of a somewhat girlish figure. Santana spent the hour after that teaching Kurt to walk with more sway to his hips and how to navigate clothing items like bras, and then, satisfied with their work, they put on Chicago and read magazines, gossiping as the movie played.

"I am going to make Mr. Schue look so stupid," Kurt crowed. "I'm going to join Dalton's show choir – they're really good, you know; they've won Nationals for the past four years in a row! Anyway, I'm going to get on that show choir, and I'll get a lead for Regionals, and we'll destroy McKinley at the competition, and Mr. Schue will have to pick his jaw up off the floor when I reveal the truth. I'm going to prove that I was the best singer in the club, and that win will look great on my CV. Maybe he'll resign out of humiliation!" Kurt clapped his hands.  
Santana snorted. "Okay, slow down. How are you even going to get on Dalton's choir? Regionals is three weeks away."

"They won't be able to say no once they hear me sing," Kurt said, "they have some amazing singers, but I'm pretty sure they don't have a countertenor with my range."

"Okay, well, right now I am telling you, your voice is not as high as it was two years ago," Santana said with a wag of her finger.  
"Excuse me?" Kurt stared at her, appalled.

"I mean your speaking voice, dummy. I know you can still belt out a high F. But when you talk…you're going to have to make an effort to sound more like you did two years ago, because you sound different now, and it'll give you away."

Kurt pursed his lips, and then affected a more breathy voice. "Is this better? Am I suitably girly enough now?"

Santana grinned at him. "Perfect. You know, if anyone can pull this off, it's you. You just need to keep your head down, don't get involved in any drama, steer clear of the divas, and you might just have a shot."

"No problem," Kurt said. Of course, he didn't realize that he was agreeing to what would turn out to be an impossibility.


End file.
